


Silence Between Words

by BlackVelvet42



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Crew as Family, Friendship, Gen, To The Journey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: "Perhaps the concept of silence was unknown to them. It seemed like the only logical explanation."
Relationships: Harry Kim & Tom Paris
Comments: 14
Kudos: 36
Collections: To the Journey: Found Family in Star Trek





	Silence Between Words

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the beta, coffeeblack75<3

* * *

Perhaps the concept of silence was unknown to them. It seemed like the only logical explanation.

Whenever Paris and Kim got together, they didn’t stay quiet for long. If at all. From the moment they greeted, to the last ‘see ya’, their association was filled with chatter without any obvious significance or goal. 

It was … confusing. 

Not that those two were the only ones to engage in such pointless interaction, but they certainly were among the most enthusiastic. Apart from the few people who preferred their own company much like she did, almost everyone on _Voyager_ appeared to spend a considerable amount of time absorbed in the same mindless noise.

Where was the grace of a shared silence? The weightless space in the absence of words, the ease of breath that came from not having to speak? Surely she couldn’t be the only one to long for such calm.

Despite what most chose to believe, life with the Borg had been, above all, harmonious. Most of the time, her days had followed a familiar, predictable rhythm, repeating routines and performing tasks according to the purpose of her division. Without the burden of individuality and the boundaries of an isolated mind, she had no need to define herself in relation to others, no need to choose what to reveal and what to hide. She was never judged and never alone. The voices inside her head were always present, soothing like a river, each whisper adding its share to the flow, passing on information, upholding the peace.

Finding herself on a starship where existence was based on working together but as separate individuals was quite a shock.

Without a collective consciousness, everything had to be expressed with words. Not only did she find speaking itself a highly inefficient and frustrating form of communication, but it also came linked with tones, gestures, and expressions too obscure for her to read. To make matters worse, independent thinking led to independent opinions, occasionally loud ones. Everyone had a different perspective and ideas, but instead of conveying their thoughts in a coherent manner supporting understanding and decision-making, communication was often blurred by motives that remained unseen. How such a chaotic crew had ever survived in the Delta Quadrant was incomprehensible.

At first, she couldn’t bear being around people for long and she escaped to her solitude every chance she got. Gradually, the sensory load became less overwhelming, like the Doctor had predicted, and the rules of interaction clearer, like Captain Janeway had assured. And, eventually, she even noticed sometimes missing company. What exactly she missed or expected was still without a form, but it was evident that some part of her was drawn to others.

Her preferred place to study social phenomena and to fill her need for company was the mess hall. If she arrived at the right time, she could occupy the small table at the back, the location offering both a sense of privacy and a suitable view over the room and entrance. Furthermore, she discovered that if she had a PADD in hand, she was usually left alone. With the disguise of work shielding her, even Neelix managed to contain his excessive speech and settle for a brief inquiry about her nutritional preferences before retreating to the kitchen.

Sitting in her safe place, she was free to observe without hurry or distractions. Soon enough, she noticed that the interactions she had deemed chaotic in fact consisted of patterns. Vague and variable, illogical even, but patterns nonetheless. Something she could categorize and learn.

Much seemed to depend on position. When Captain Janeway spoke with a member of her crew, it was always she who asked for their concerns and suggested solutions, never the other way around. The norm no doubt reflected her role as a leader, as similar interactions could be seen between department heads and their subordinates as well. Another protocol appeared linked to age. Although most of the personnel were between their 20’s and 40’s, there was a slight but distinct increase in respectful demeanor when the age difference surpassed approximately eighteen years. Commander Tuvok, holding both a high rank and more years than anyone else, was shown particular respect. And awe, too, even though that was probably due to his Vulcan composure. On the other hand, the older crew members seemed more protective of the younger ones, easily adopting a parental, educational tone, sometimes to the annoyance of the younger staff. And of course, the only child on board, Naomi, was surrounded by parenting, as if Ensign Wildman wasn’t capable of offering her daughter the supervision and guidance she required.

Romantic endeavors were another thing altogether. A unique domain of human interaction, simultaneously subtle and coarsely obvious, saturated with innuendo and undertones often too ambiguous to recognize and too complex to interpret even if she did recognize them. Why did people not simply express their wish to copulate? What was the meaning of all those irrelevant steps so susceptible to misunderstanding? Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay, for one, had honed those moves to an art, up to a point where being around them was sometimes most uncomfortable.

She didn’t particularly enjoy receiving such attention herself. After realizing that some of the looks certain crew members threw her way weren’t just curiosity but something much more intentional and intrusive, she had decided to carefully steer away from any such initiatives. Not only was avoiding easier but also more logical – after all, she did not desire an intimate relationship with anyone.

But what remained after she had analyzed and labeled all the major types of interaction left her confused.

Every so often, someone would ask her, ‘How are you, Seven?’, but to this day, she did not know how to answer. How was she in what regard? Why would she be essentially any different than she was the last time they spoke?

The Doctor had explained that the question was an established convention, a greeting and a courtesy, intended as a beginning to conversation and an inquiry of her mental state and well-being. The explanation was insufficient. She did not comprehend why her status would change or why people would want to know. What could they possibly do with that information?

Once, she had heard Ayala ask something similar and B’Elanna reply with, ‘None of your damn business.’ The more she thought about it, the better that answer seemed to capture her response to the query too. But judging by the hurt on Ayala’s face despite B’Elanna’s apology, the choice of words didn’t appear recommended.

Gradually, she came to suspect that the strange question of her well-being was related to the kind of bond Paris and Kim shared. The bond of friendship. The concept was intriguing but evaded her attempts to define it.

Compared with other types of interaction, it had no clear origin, no rational reason to exist, no apparent sustaining force. It wasn’t based on professional relations, blood ties, biological urges, or any other specific mutual interest. Its rules were few, its boundaries flexible, and yet it was highly resilient, endlessly tolerant, as if the bond was unbreakable.

Harry never needed to ask how Tom was. Not because he didn’t care, but because he already knew, simply by seeing his friend’s face. Neither did they have to ask what the other needed, because the answer was obvious to them, lingering somewhere beneath that mindless chatter she couldn’t understand.

She wasn’t curious because she wanted what they had. Not exactly. She didn’t want anyone close the way they gravitated near each other; Tom wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulder or Harry punching Tom’s stomach with a force that was visibly uncomfortable _._ Nor did she want anyone insisting she confess embarrassing details from her past, like those two often did with each other, or daring her to do something dangerous or ridiculous because it was expected to be entertaining.

Then again, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like.

How it would feel if one day someone came to her in the mess hall, took one look at her, and sat down, reading her quietness for what it was.

A welcome and a wish. To share a meal in comfortable silence, without the need to fill the space with words. To merely breathe the moment, the presence of another person enough to soothe and to ground, to make the day fuller, more meaningful, somehow.

It might be … nice. 

* * *


End file.
